K is for knowledge

I feel old.

I look terrible.

I thought that by changing my surroundings I would feel different, start to mend. But it’s me that needs to change, not my surroundings. My surroundings are highlighting my weaknesses and I am frustrated at how much I cannot do. It’s such a cliché, but I never thought this would happen to me. Sometimes I feel such a failure. I never thought I would be unable to work, unable to get out of bed some days.

And I don’t want to wallow in self pity. It’s just that sometimes I get scared.

Everything is a question.
Why me?
Why did it start?
What caused it?
Why don’t they know?
Why won’t it stop?
Will it ever stop?
Will I always be like this?
What does it feel like not to be in pain?

It has been suggested that I ditch Dolores. It’s a wonderful idea, she has definitely outstayed her welcome. But that leads to another question.

How?

Katy

(K is for Koko - Goldfrapp)

J is for Jesus

Once again the ringing bells activate the Catholic guilt, but I decide to try a different venue this Sunday.

The local church in San Nicolo is breathtaking and dates back to the 13th century. I had checked the mass times the day before and arrived at 11.25 for the 11.30 mass. The church was completely deserted and I realised with dismay that I must have made a mistake translating the Italian. I started to head home but on the way passed several groups of smartly dressed people who looked as though they were in their Sunday best. I turned back to the church just to make absolutely sure. It turns out that Italians are just as relaxed about their time keeping with God as they are with one another. Even the priest was a fashionable 15 minutes late in making his entrance. One wonders how long an Italian bride keeps her groom waiting for if she has to factor in the congregation and the priest being late.

In order to make up for his late entrance the priest, who was approximately a hundred and fifty years old, proceeded to gallop through the service, barely pausing for breath until the end of the sermon. After this he seemed to slow a little, and on a couple of occasions I wondered whether he was kissing the altar, or resting his forehead for a short nap.

As Sunday is the day of rest, that’s exactly what I did for it’s remainder.

Katy

(J is for Just can’t get enough - Depeche Mode)

I is for ice cream

As always, I feel better for leaving the house and once again, it’s a bright sunny day.

I start the morning with a dose of culture to cleanse my spirit via the Museo Opera di Santa Maria del Fiore. Amongst the treasures are the Gates of Paradise, the finger of John the Baptist and Michelangelo’s Pieta. The last amazingly created when the artist was 80 years old and beginning to contemplate meeting his Maker. Dissatisfied with the flawed marble he took a hammer to the sculpture in the first recorded instance of an artist vandalising his own work.

I spend the afternoon calming my soul with another favourite past time, designer window shopping. An eyeful of Gucci, Prada and Hermes leaves me feeling positively sprightly.

Being woefully over my luggage weight allowance on the way out meant that I had to leave several books behind and so I treat my self to Vogue to read whilst soaking in the bath later on. I also decide that I need to reintroduce some calories after a couple of days on water and what better way than gelato? At £5 a scoop it better be worth it … but it’s a huge scoop, oh, and it’s SO worth it.

Katy

(I is for I can’t decide - Scissor Sisters (dedicated to Dolores))

H is for headache

My confidence has taken a knock and I wonder what I am doing here. Dolores has a sickening grip on my head as well as my back at present. I crawl out of bed with stiff limbs, hip joints aching from supporting my little body and dry, dark smudges under my eyes. I’m badly dehydrated. My first shower after being confined to bed for a couple of days is bliss.
I walk to the shop to restock on water - it’s a beautiful sunny day outside but I don’t have the energy to do any more than return to lie on the sofa.
I’m feeling sorry for myself and thank god for Radio 4 via the internet.
Doctor’s advice is not to let pain rule you because of the link between one’s state of mind and pain. But how can you not? If I do less during the day than I would have done when I was well, to try to limit the pain, then she has won by limiting me. If I push myself to do more, I end up in pain, so she’s still won. It’s a lose lose situation, and it’s so hard not to let it grind you down.

Sometimes I don’t recognise myself any more.

Katy
(H is for Highways of my Life - Isley Brothers)

G is for greyness

I woke up shattered and got back into bed after breakfast. I resurfaced at midday but recognised that she was taking over. So back to bed and wait for the inevitable. First morbid tiredness. She was clever and waited until night to make a proper appearence. Knew it would be more unsettling in the dark and away from home. Then she's inside my head, screaming and rattling, poking at my eyes and making it difficult to bear the weight of my head on the pillow. Then nausea and vomiting. Finally the greyness of dawn and she allows me a fitful sleep.

Katy

(G is for Galvanise - Chemical Brothers)

F is for fabulous find

I was thoroughly excited to read in the local paper that a vintage fair at a venue approximately the size of a small aircraft hangar began today. A vintage fiend such as myself loves nothing more than whiling away a couple of hours sifting through second hand, sorry, vintage, booty. I wasn't disappointed. Row upon row of clothes, bags, shoes, scarves, jewellery and hats were laid out to be trawled through. And this being Italy, vintage does not mean last months Primark as it can elsewhere. Vintage Gucci, Chanel and Hermes all present and correct to be haggled over. Having already told myself that there was nothing else I actually needed (like that ever makes a difference) this season, I was happy wryly noting the superiority of even second hand Italian style over the rest of Europe.

As I turned to complete my final section (yes, yes I know - organised as ever), a rather fabulous dress caught my eye. Granted, a cobalt blue floor length ball gown is not essential to my wardrobe - especially as Dolores doesn't like me to go out that often. However, there are some things that a girl just can't walk by. And having bartered the seller to 70 euros (that's about £45) I was extremely smug.

Dolores was starting to whinge so I asked at the Tourist Information office which bus I needed to get home. 40 minutes later I was still on the bus and starting to think that the Tourist Info chap was taking the proverbial, as I journeyed through what appeared to be Florences industrial outskirts. The answer became patently clear when the bus pulled up back outside the station, having been nowehere near my destination. Yes, I had got on the bus going in the wrong direction. Told you my sense of direction was crap.

Katy

(F is for Freeway - (Crazy P Mix) Soulway)

E is for espresso

I decide to try out the coffee bar at the bottom of my street this morning. I am learning that the trick is to order without appearing to be talking to the person concerned. All morning orders are delivered like this; with the utmost nonchalance. The bartender is usually having more than one conversation at once, and given that my Italian is far from fluent, it's often difficult to know whether he is talking to me, or one of the other 3 individuals at the bar. Clearly the haunt of the cooler 30something male, all present are engaging in the time honoured practice of discussing the state of the world with accompanying expansive hand gestures.

There are 2 different prices in a bar; one for standing at the bar and one for sitting at a table. I prefer to pay the extra euro and sit, which gives me a birds eye view of the proceedings. Breakfast is the only time of day when Italians seem motivated to move beyond a slow amble; which means a high turnover of characters.

Flicking through the TV channels last night I am amused to find that Big Brother, or rather Grande Fratello - has made it to these shores. No mixed race contestants means no Shilpa controversy here, although there are the usual shower of social mismatches. One of the males who clearly fancies himself as a bit of a ladies man is striding round the house wearing a pair of white Y fronts teamed with a pair of flip flops. I would love to see how long he would last with Jackay.

The weather was breath-in-front-of-your-nose freezing this morning, with a fog surrounding the Ponte Vecchio and creeping up the river banks. However, this lifts giving way to a hazy but beautifully sunny day. The haze over the bridges never seems to lift completely, and I am left wondering whether Michelangelo et al invented sffumato, or whether they were just painting what they saw

Katy

(E is for Emotion 98.4 Mylo)